


Alpha Nap

by surfnakedd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfnakedd/pseuds/surfnakedd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When there's only three people in your pack, and a group of Alphas is pressing in, not much time is available for sleep. But a severely sleep deprived Alpha might as well be a dead Alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   It’s quiet. The Sheriff went to sleep hours ago. It’s almost eleven p.m. But Stiles can’t sleep. He’s scrolling through another useless website on mythical creatures when he hears a soft tap.

   He looks over to see Derek’s face in his window, and  _wow_. He actually  _knocked_? Stiles slides the window open and gestures for Derek to come in. The werewolf slugs his way over the windowsill and just kind of sinks to the floor.

   ”Are you ok?” Stiles whispers, worried. Derek nods slightly.

   ”Yeah. M’fine. Just…” he trails off. “I can’t go home. Peter and Isaac are out on patrol. No one else is there.”

   ”No one to watch out while you sleep, you mean?” Stiles holds out a hand to help Derek off the floor.

   Derek takes it hesitantly, but let’s Stiles help him up off the hard floor. Stiles pulls his jacket off his shoulders, throws it across the back of his computer chair and guides him to the bed where Derek sits again.

   ”When’s the last time you ate anything?” Stiles kneels in front of him.

   ”I,” Derek thinks for a minute, “yesterday?” Stiles sighs heavily.

   ”Stay here. Ok?” Derek doesn’t respond. “ _Derek_. Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

   ”Alright. Fine.” he mumbles. Stiles makes his way quietly down the stairs. He gets to the kitchen and searches the fridge. He pulls out lunch meat and mayonnaise and other sandwich materials. Pieces together a rather large sandwich and heads back up the stairs. When he gets back to his room Derek’s slumped forward, face in his hands. He looks up at Stiles slowly.

   ”Here.” Stiles holds out the plate with the sandwich and a bottle of water.

   Derek stares at it like he thinks it might bite him.

   ”It’s just a sandwich. Eat it. You need to eat.” he shoves the plate forward and Derek finally takes it. But he’s still just staring at the thing. Stiles sighs again, flops back in to his computer chair and spins around. “Eat.”

   ”When’s the last time you slept?” Stiles asks after a few minutes.

   ”Three days ago.” Derek says, around a mouthful of food. Good. Stiles turns his head to look at him, huffs his breath.

   ”You’re stupid.” is all he says. He must have a death wish tonight. Derek just levels him with a half-hearted glare. But takes another bite of the sandwich. Stiles goes back to reading about  _Goblins_.

   About ten minutes later, he’s finally finished the long page. Read all about the different kinds of goblins and what they do, when he hears it. A soft snore. He turns slowly in his chair, hoping it doesn’t squeak. The plate is empty sitting on the nightstand, Derek is slumped forward again, his face in his hands.

   Stiles wont admit it, but he smiles. A soft, understanding smile, and stands from the chair. He pads across the room and touches Derek’s shoulder. Derek jolts at the touch, his eyes snapping open, wide.

   ”It’s ok, it’s just me, Stiles.” he whispers. Derek relaxes slightly, his eyes droop again. “Why don’t you lay down? Rest…”

   Derek shakes his head. “I can’t…”

   Stiles kneels in front of him again, looks up at him and tilts his head, “Why not?”

   ”…can’t.” Derek mumbles.

   Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s knee and he jerks, inhales sharply. Stiles keeps his expression calm and open. “Why can’t you sleep, Derek?”

   ”I have to… I’m the Alpha. I have things… to do.” he slurs, half asleep.

   Stiles sighs quietly. He can’t help it, Derek looks so vulnerable, so tired, he reaches up and touches the side of Derek’s face. Derek eyes him warily, but doesn’t move away or swat at Stiles’ hand.

   He stands, steps closer and pushes lightly on Derek’s shoulder. He does the opposite of what he’s supposed to, he leans forward. His forehead bumps into Stiles’ sternum and he leaves it there, his face pressing into Stiles’ t-shirt.

   Stiles’ hand betrays him, petting through Derek’s hair without permission. But Derek’s breath hitches and Stiles realizes suddenly that Derek’s hand is clenching in the side of his shirt. His heart is the next thing to gain a mind of it’s own, fluttering  _stupidly_  in his chest.

   ”Derek, lay down.” he says softly, his hand still petting through Derek’s hair, his other hand now rests on the back of Derek’s neck. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch, I promise.” Derek’s face seems to press against him more, or maybe Stiles is moving forward, or maybe it’s both.

   Finally, almost resentfully, Derek leans away. He kicks his shoes off, and scoots away from the edge of the bed. Stiles pulls the covers back and Derek climbs underneath them. Stiles crosses the room and turns off the light.

   In the dim light from his laptop he can see that there’s still a considerable amount of room in the bed. And maybe Stiles has gone insane, but he thinks he can keep watch on the window from over there.

   He walks over quietly, slides a careful knee on the bed, and pauses to judge Derek’s reaction. His eyes slide open again, but he just watches Stiles.

   Stiles crawls onto the bed hesitantly, and his heart feels like it stops when Derek slides a hand up and lifts the covers. He’s frozen in place for a few moments. When Derek takes a deep, tired breath, he regains  _most_  of the control over his body. He crawls under the covers and nestles into his bed.

   If Stiles nestles a little closer to Derek when his eyes finally slide shut again, he blames that on the warmth, and that small part of control he still doesn’t have a grip on.

   Maybe in the morning he’ll ask Derek what his excuse is for the warm, solid arm that snakes around Stiles’ waist, or the way his face is pressed into Stiles’ hair.

   But it can wait ‘til morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek wakes up to sunlight brightening the room, feeling more rested than he has in years. It’s late, probably noon at least. He tightens his arms instinctively around the form in front of him. It whimpers and squirms closer. Suddenly he’s aware that he’s drowning in a familiar scent. He’s drowning in it, and he doesn't want to surface. He doesn't want to leave this spot. Warm, and soft, and safe. His chest tightens with affection when he looks down and sees the boy’s sleeping face. The way he looks so much smaller when he sleeps. It stirs something in him. Something he's felt a lot recently but hasn't allowed himself to dwell on. But this. This isn't just a stir. This is a full on whirlpool of instincts and feelings that he's not sure he's going to be able to ignore now.

   ”-‘re so warmm, mmm,” Stiles hears himself hum, it’s what wakes him up, really. But the strong scent of woods and smoke and an underlying hint of soap makes him open his eyes.

   He sees a black t-shirt, a broad shoulder, and the base of a stubble-covered neck.

   Oh crap.

   ”Oh  _crap_!” he hisses, trying not to wake his dad, and pushes back to look up at Derek. Derek watches him, pulls his arms away. Until that moment, Stiles hadn’t even registered that they were there. “I dozed off, I swear I was on the look out all night! I even watched the sun rise. I’m so sorry!”

   ”It’s ok.” Derek says quietly.

   Stiles sits up, “But I promised I’d  _watch_  while you slept. Not sleep _with_  you- I mean…” he trails off, clears his throat. He glances at Derek, who’s head is still on the pillow. His gaze hasn’t left Stiles, but his expression is masked. Stiles knows, because he can see something in his eyes, but the rest of his face hides it to well for him to figure out what it is.

   ”You did good.” Derek says still quiet. Stiles' heart flutters, he wishes he could make it  _not_  do that. Then Derek’s sitting up too, climbing out of the bed and stretching. Stiles watches his muscles stretch under the thin cotton material of his t-shirt.

   ”Are you… uh, gonna go now?” Stiles averts his eyes, stares down at his hands. He looks up to watch Derek pull his shoes on.

   ”Yeah.” Derek says after a moment. “If I stay here, I might draw trouble right to your door.”

   ”Little late for that.” Stiles jokes, but stops laughing when Derek gives him a look. If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say he looked almost guilty. Maybe even slightly scared. “It was a joke, Derek.”

   He takes a deep breath, seems to school his features a little, but he doesn’t lose the tension in his shoulders. He pulls his jacket on and turns to Stiles.

   ”Listen, I want you to hang out with Scott, as much as possible. And if  _anything_  seems… off. Call me.” his voice is low, serious.

   ”Dude, the Alphas haven’t even made a move yet. You have no clue where they are, and they’d have no reason to come after me. Scott’s not part of your pack, and I’m not a werewolf.” Stiles kicks the covers off and climbs out of the bed.

   ”They have a reason.” he says. He reaches out towards Stiles, just for a second, but pulls his hand back and heads for the door.

   ”Wait! You’ll wake my Dad.”

   ”He left at one.” Derek says over his shoulder, and rushes out the door.

   He'd left already. Well good God, how late had he slept? Stiles turns to his clock and his jaw drops.

   It’s four o’clock.

\- - -

   Scott gives him a weird look as soon as he opens the door. Stiles ignores him, pushes past him into the house.

   ”Oh my god. What is that  _smell_!?” Stiles beelines for the kitchen.

   ”I could ask you the same question.” Scott mumbles.

   ”What?” Stiles looks over his shoulder.

   ”Nothing. Uh, Mom made stew before she left. She said it should be done in time for dinner.” he says, awkward.

   ”Dude.” Stiles puts the lid back on the slow-cooker and turns to his friend. “What’s your problem?”

   ”Nothing.” Scott shakes his head. Stiles decides to let it slide, but when he walks by Scott to get out of the kitchen he doesn’t miss the way Scott takes a step back.

   It doesn’t really bother him until he’s sitting on the couch a while later, playing video games with Scott. He reaches for his soda and Scott almost climbs over the back of the couch.

   ”Alright what the hell is your deal?!” Stiles asks later. He’s halfway through the doorway to Scott’s room, and Scott, who had just been next to him, is now at least six feet away.

   ”I don’t know! I just…” Scott’s eyebrows draw together, “don’t want to touch you.”

   ”Yeah well I don’t exactly  _want_   to touch you either but, Jesus, you’re acting like I have an extremely contagious, deadly disease!” Stiles throws his hands up.

   ”I don’t know what’s going on Stiles! I’m sorry. You smell  _weird_ , and any time your skin is near mine I just…  _move_! I’m not trying to!” Scott looks hopeless. And he does sound sorry.

   ”What the hell do you mean I smell weird? I showered.” Stiles plucks at his shirt and smells it. Scott shakes his head.

   ”I can’t explain it. You smell like you, just… like someone… else.” Scott finishes lamely, and stares at the floor.

   ”Like… Derek?” Stiles mumbles. Scott looks up at him.

   ”Yeah. Kinda. But it’s not like, if you study with Danny, and I can smell him on you. It’s more like the way I can smell your dad on you. Like it’s  _part_  of your scent, not covering it. What does… Stiles what does that mean? Why do  _you_  smell like Derek?”

   Stiles blanches, but regains his verbal footing. “I don’t know, Scott. I don’t understand any of your werewolf scent stuff. Maybe,” he fumbles for an excuse, or a lie, but fails. “I don’t know. I’ll call him.”

   He pulls out his phone, dials Derek’s number. It’s rings once, and Derek’s voice is on the other end, worried.

   ”Stiles. What’s wrong?” he waits a moment, and Stiles doesn’t really know how to ask such a weird question, “ _Stiles?_ ” His voice is definitely more worried.

   ”Yeah. Hey Derek, nothing’s wrong.” He finally makes himself say.

   ”Are you sure?” Derek asks, voice confused now, Stiles can hear Isaac talking to Peter in the background.

   ”Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Scott’s fine. I just… He can’t touch me.” is what finally comes out, he wants to smash his cellphone into his head. Before he can clarify Derek makes a weird noise on the other side of the line, Isaac and Peter go silent. Probably having overheard that brilliant line.

   ”What?” his tone is flat.

   ”I mean, god,” Stiles sighs. Trying to form a proper sentence with Scott watching and two extra werewolves listening over there isn’t easy. “For instance, I was reaching for my soda, and he ‘bout back-flipped, just to not come in actual contact with me. Also he says I smell like you. In some weird way. I don’t  _know_.”

   Derek is silent on the other end for too long. Stiles looks at his phone to make sure he’s still connected.

   ”Derek…” he hears Peter’s voice in the background, it’s low, but it has a taunting lilt to it, “You know what this means-“

   ”Shut up.” Derek hisses, away from the phone, but Stiles still hears it all. Even without wolf hearing.

   Scott leans around so he can catch Stiles’ eye. Y’know instead of  _touching_  his shoulder or something. But Scott frowns, tilts his head like he’s asking ‘ _What does this mean, Stiles? You’re human, **you should know**!’_

   Stiles glares at him slightly, shakes his head.

   ”I think,” Derek says after a long silence, then sighs. Stiles pays attention to the phone again. “Stiles I need to talk to you.”

   ”We are talking.” he says. He hears Derek sigh again.

   ”Not over the phone.  _Not_  with an audience.” Stiles imagines Isaac and Peter leaning in close to hear what Stiles is saying, much like Scott’s doing, and Derek turning to glare at them.

   ”Um, ok?” Scott’s eyebrows raise. Stiles just shrugs.

   ”Your house, fifteen minutes.” Derek says.

   The line goes dead.

   ”What the hell?” Scott asks.

   ”I don’t know, man. But I need to go home.” Stiles starts down the stairs.

   Scott throws his hands up. “Alright, dude. Just… don’t… die.” Scott says, and he doesn’t sound like he’s joking. But Stiles is pretty sure he doesn’t have to worry about that right now.

\- - -

   He pulls up to his house exactly thirteen minutes later. There’s, thankfully, no police car in the driveway. He doesn’t bother pretending to look around the porch, or the living room. He knows Derek is here, and he knows he didn’t use the door.

   He still jumps when he swings his bedroom door open and Derek is just  _there_. In the middle of the room. Glaring at the floor.

   Stiles closes his door. Derek looks up, glares for all of one second, but it falters. His usual angry expression gives way to one of worry easily.

   ”Not gonna… slam me into anything today? Or fall on the floor, for one reason or another?” Stiles jokes, but it falls flat when Derek just shakes his head slowly. His unfaltering eye contact makes Stiles feel antsy, but he can’t look away.

   ”I’m sorry.” Derek tries to say, his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to…”

   ”Didn’t mean to what?” Stiles says softly. Derek doesn’t respond, he finally looks away. He takes a deep breath.

   ”Why did you…” he looks back up at Stiles, who hasn’t looked away from Derek once, “Why did you get in the bed last night?”

   Now Stiles looks away. He feels his cheeks flush when he looks at the bed.

   ”Ah, I don’t know. I just… You looked…” he can’t finish. He doesn’t know what he even wants to say, what he  _should_  say. Honestly he doesn’t even know why he did that last night. But it felt right…

   ”Because of me?” Derek says quietly. When Stiles chances a look at him he looks almost  _hopeful_. Stiles’ cheeks heat more.

   ”Well… it is my bed.” he mumbles.

   ”Then why did you have to get so close?” Derek’s words have a bite to them, sarcasm.

   ”Hey, who was holding who!?” Stiles wishes now, more than ever, his words took on a physical form. So he could shove them back in his mouth. _Or kill them._

   Derek stares at him for a moment, before apparently deciding on what he’ll say next.

   ”Yeah well, you weren’t  _complaining_  about my  _‘warmth.’_ ” He raises an eyebrow.

   Stiles wants to  _die._

   But then he actually remembers Derek’s warmth. The way Derek’s face pressed into his hair and his hands warm on Stiles’ back and hip. And the way hard muscles are actually better than soft pillows.

   Great, his heart is doing stupid things again.

   When he gathers his bravery and looks back up at Derek, he seems to have lost his sarcasm. His expression is soft. Derek takes a small, hesitant step toward Stiles. His hand twitches forward, but stays in place at his side.

   ”Was it because of me?” his voice is gentle and quiet. It draws Stiles in, warms him to his bones, and makes him feel  _safe_.

   He can’t even lie. Even if he could, Derek would know. He nods.

   Derek thinks about this for a minute. “I marked you.” he whispers.

   Stiles just stares at him, raises his eyebrows.

   ”You what?”

   ”It was an accident. It must have happened while I was asleep. I don’t even know how to mark someone.”

   ”Woah, woah, woah. What do you even mean  _marked_? Like, your  _territory_? Your property?” Stiles' eyes widen, " _Please_  tell me you didn't pee on me."

   ” _No!_  Of course not!” Derek nearly shreiks, indignantly. His eyebrows draw together and hea takes a deep breath to steady his voice. “You’re not an object, Stiles. You’re a person. You’re  _human_ , and you have a  _choice._ ”

   ”What does it mean to mark someone?”

   ”Alphas… They mark their, uh,” he looks away.

   ”Derek.” Stiles pushes, growing impatient, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what Derek is going to say.

   ”Alphas mark potential mates.” Derek rushes out, staring at Stiles again. “That’s why Scott didn’t want to touch you. Even if he doesn’t understand, his instincts know what the scent is. It wears off after a few days, the instinct to not touch. He just has to get used to the scent.”

   ”Is that what I am?” the question comes out kind of on auto-pilot, even if Stiles is too shocked to really pay much attention. “A potential mate?”

   ”Do you want to be?” he’s careful, quiet, and hesitant. Like he’s maneuvering through a mine field, or trying to tell a human boy he’s an Alpha werewolf’s mate.

   ”I don’t know.” Stiles says, his voice is a little shaky, “What does it mean?”

   Derek is quiet for a long time, he seems to be arguing with himself inwardly. It gives Stiles time to take in everything, and focus on Derek, wait for an explanation.

   The fact that he hasn’t told Derek to leave, outright, tells him maybe he already knows his answer anyway.

   Finally, Derek takes a steadying breath, like someone about to dive off the bridge, and hope the bungee cord holds up. He gives Stiles a look. One that just screams  _all-or-nothing_.

   ”In simple terms, it means…” he pauses takes another deep breath, “It means if you accept, _nothing_ will hurt you as long as I'm around. I will keep you safe. It means I will take care of you. It means I will love you. For the rest of my life. Unwaveringly, no matter what." he pauses, glances away from a moment as if he's afraid to say what he says next. But his gaze settles back on Stiles firmly, "It means I already do.” He watches Stiles for a few moments. But Stiles doesn’t move, he doesn’t talk. So Derek looks away. Stiles watches his face fall, ever so slightly.

   But he can’t move because his knees are jello. He’s surprised he’s still upright. He can’t talk because his throat feels so thick, he knows his voice won’t help him. He swallows, again and again, until he feels like he’s actually capable of speaking.

   ”I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I'll leave you aone.” Derek says, he turns toward the window. But he stops when Stiles’ hand clenches in his jacket sleeve. He turns and looks at him, wide eyed.

   ”I, uh,” Stiles says, clears his throat, “I’m a little scared. I’ll be honest. I don’t know exactly how this is supposed to work. I’ve never exactly dated a werewolf. Hell I’ve never exactly dated anyone. I’ve been in love with Lydia since I was like eight.” Now that Stiles has words coming, he can’t make them stop.

   Derek’s just watching him, listening patiently, with gentle eyes and a sad almost-smile.

   ”But I realize now, she belongs with Jackson. And the funny thing is, I’m ok with that. It doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. It does hurt, but not like it should. The really funny thing is, she’s ignored me since we were children. And she finally talked to me,  _smiled_  at me. I felt like I was on top of the world. But…” he glances at the bed quickly, then looks back at Derek and tries to ignore how his entire body is trembling, “Being on top of the world is nothing compared to what I felt this morning. When I woke up, and you were there. It’s nothing compared to this, right now. I love Lydia, and I’m happy for her. But I realized, I don’t want her… I want to _be_ her. But I don’t want Jackson, cause frankly, he’s a douche. I want… Derek, I want you.”

   He’s done now. He’s pretty sure he is anyway. No more words are pressing at his mind, demanding to be said. Which is good. Because Derek is stepping toward him, grabbing at the collar of his plaid overshirt. He guides Stiles backwards until his back meets his bedroom wall. But it’s different this time. Derek’s not growling at him, or demanding anything, he’s not shoving Stiles’ shoulder blades into the drywall. He presses him against the wall, leans in slow, till their faces are less than an inch apart. Derek licks his lips.

   ”Can I?” he breathes. He sounds desperate, and like he might break. Just totally shatter if Stiles says no. Not that he would. Not when every part of him is screaming ‘ _yes!_ ’

   He nods. Barely. But he nods. His pulse is hammering in his veins and his hands are shaking.

   " _Yes_."

   Derek leans forward that extra fraction of an inch and their lips brush. Just barely. Derek’s hand slides down to Stiles’ hip and he leans forward. Their lips meet again, firm and hot. An actual kiss, though chaste. But it’s enough to send Stiles’ heart racing faster. Derek leans away an inch or two and Stiles’ hand slides up over his shoulder and settles on the back of his neck.

   Derek actually smiles at him. For the first time. It’s beautiful, really. And Stiles can’t help but give a voice to the tugging in his chest, the ache in his limbs that just wants more, more, more. Most of all, the smile he feels pulling at his lips, and the butterflies that are downright  _thrashing_  in his stomach.

   ”I love you too. And you should smile like that more often”

   "I'll try." Derek whispers, still smiling, before their lips meet again.


End file.
